Saturday, July 23, 2016

i wrap my finger around the fish hook and
tug, i am using the puppet strings
to tie myself to the bed. 
slip into your silo, fuck up
the grain piles. grind
nails down on your sand belt, arch
yourself over the coaster, weld the dreams
shut. dribble honey over a name
and swallow.

mother says
there will be berries that are rotten and you will not know
until you touch them with your mouth.
they think that the softness makes me weak,
the scars a martyr,
but i was killed 
and did not die.
a violently resilient thing;
do not underestimate this. 

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